Friday, December 15

Be Aware in the Concrete Jungle

I have made it a habit to pick up my kid from school as close to the dismissal time as possible. Not because I don’t like waiting but because I pretty much hate people. One of the parents of a kid in my son’s class is one of those sea-donkeys that can’t keep her fat piehole shut. She is of the species Cantshutyourmouthapus, which is a mix of a large flapping yap and a hippopotamus. This species tends to live in and around schools, grocery store lines, the mall, and if you are cursed, next to your cubicle at work. Beware of them; they can’t look quite tame until you come within earshot. Then they emit a sound-wave that impairs the victim long enough for the Cantshutyourmouthapus to feast on the soul of the victim.

This particular Cantshutyourmouthapus picks off victims at random as they walk past the classroom door. One day I was outside of her lethal zone, and observing her in her natural habitat. An unsuspecting victim walked by with a 3 year old in tow. Unfortunately the child placed the victim within striking distance when he yelled “Mommy, I have to go pee-pee.” The mom responded with “Were going now.” With which he replied “No we’re not”. Like a crocodile lunging at a deer drinking from a river, Cantshutyourmouthapus struck. “They can be so defiant at that age.” This was like a lure used by a Venus Fly Trap. The mom took the bait and glanced at her. WHAM! Due to FCC regulations, I cannot describe the carnage that ensued. Let’s just say that the mom will have to learn how to stand up and pee if she wants to avoid the lifelong use of a catheter.

So please people, if you see the Cantshutyourmouthapus in the wild, do not approach it. Your best cause of defense is to always keep a chocolate bar in you pocket or a DVD of the latest Oprah Show. When spotted, throw either towards the Cantshutyourmouthapus and run in the opposite direction.

Tuesday, December 12

Mooooo

We are so evolved as a society. We always put ourselves on a pedestal high above those lower than us on the food chain. However, as we devolve back towards the protozoan from whence we spawned so many years ago, we begin to take on the characteristics of the beasts we feel superiority over. I recently went on a short flight of approximately 80 minutes on the nefarious cattle drive airline based in the bastion of ignorance (That’s Texas for ya’ll). I’m sure you’re aware of the boarding procedure where you are assigned a letter and boarding is based on that letter. What blows me away is that the lemmings not only put up with this shit but embrace it. They log in 24 hours before departure to get the coveted “A” boarding pass. They get to the airport 2 hours early and start waiting in line. Wait! Let me put on my big boy pants cause that doesn’t make sense. You stand in a line for 2 hours in order to score a coveted seat on an 80 minute flight? What an asshat.

Not only do they check in their luggage, they check their courtesy as well. The first group runs into the plane like a crowd of nerds at a Leanord Nimoy appearance. They have to make sure and take every aisle seat. Then the next group goes in and has to squeeze past each of those monkeys to get to the second most coveted window seat. All the while the original asshats get disgruntled because they have to get up to let them by. So now we have every window and aisle seat full in the plane. Then come the lepers of group “C”. They look at each middle seat with utter disgust and have to ask the original asshat if they can get up so they can then take every last inch of room that was once in the row. Of course the original asshat is ticked off again because he had to get up. So now we have everyone pissed off, the original asshat because he had to get up twice, the monkey for having to squeeze past the asshat and feel the asshat’s wrath, and finally the leper for ruining what was left of a frat house sausage-fest.

Of course the leper, having to run to get to his flight, wait in line in order to not get the last seat left out on the wing, and being in middle, now has to show ass to the monkey and groin to the asshat in order to use the lavatory before he pisses himself. He should just stay in the bathroom, there’s much more room in there anyhow.

Thursday, November 30

Hello Again, Naturally

It's been a while. I haven't posted in a week or so for good reason. Reasons you don't need to know and I won't be telling you. Well, I'll tell you one reason. I am writing a book based on this blog along with some crazy Canuck I met online at a gay porn website. We are putting the finishing touches on it (The book, not our twizzlers) and it should be available by mid December. Complete with Chapters, pages and even some pictures for the illiterate. So I expect all my readers to buy at least 3 copies. This will lead to record sales of 3 copies and making me rich in the lessons of failure. I'll keep you updated but the blog may be silent for the next week or so due to fleshy mammals being plucked from other fleshy mammals. Bust out the decoder ring and figure that one out.

Thursday, November 16

"We're living in a society, people"

I was in the super sized handi stall this morning, enjoying some quality time with the porcelain La-Z-Boy, and the tranquil peace of an empty bathroom when some douche-nipple saddles up to the stall right next to mine. READ THE FUCKING RULES ASSHAT!

http://thisnamenotavailable.blogspot.com/2006_02_13_thisnamenotavailable_archive.html

Tuesday, November 14

Holi-Daze

It’s that time of year again. No, not the time to choke down some dry nasty turkey and some funky ass cranberry dessert shit, it’s christmas shopping season. (I have not capitalized it on purpose, the last thing we need right now is more Christ….get it, “Mas Christ”?). I love the holiday seasons, if only for the shopping experience. You see, while celebrating the coming together of families and friends, we make our annual pilgrimage to the mall to knee some blue hair in the tit, while attempting to rip a “Stick your finger up my ass” Elmo out of her crusty, arthritic hands. It’s fantastic. Taking up two parking spots with my beater car so that Jennifer the soccer mom has to park her super extended Suburban out in the asphalt desert. Getting to the toy store and hiding all the Power Rangers in the men’s bathroom stall. Purposely not holding the door open for the bitch with her arms full of crap and stealthily slipping ice cubes into the Salvation Army bucket. I love forcing my kid to the front of the Santa line so that he can blow ass all over Santa’s lap. But I do have one thing that I am very torn about.

How great is it to get a gift card to your favorite store for christmas? You get to go out when everything is on sale, and buy what you want. No one goes and buys an ugly ass sweater or a bundle of socks (Thanks Grammy), they get something cool. Here’s the kicker. Remember when you could spend $45 of a $50 gift card and they gave you $5 back? You could hit up BK on the way home for a little christmas pick me up? Or for you pervs, you could get that $5 in singles and go to the titty bar? What happened to that? Now you either have to spend over the amount on the card or simply throw away the card with $3.78 left on it. What a crock of nacho cheese! Why hasn’t anyone petitioned Congress to force the retailers to give me my fucking change? Why hasn’t there been a class action lawsuit in regards to this. I have heard statistics that over $100 million a year gets made by retailers due to unspent gift card change (Ok, I made that up, but it has to be close.).

Tuesday, November 7

MY HR PR MO.....

One of the crappiest things to ever come out of the political correctness phase that our country has slipped into, like a fat chick in a thong bikini, is the fact that employers cannot hire people based on their qualifications or personalities. They must be hired based on how stupid they are or what color their skin is. Therefore, since we can’t ask the important questions like; “Why were you fired from your last job” or “How many dogs have you sexually molested”, we only need to make a quick visit to the applicant’s house.

Think about the co-worker you hate. Usually they are the same person who steals other people’s bagels out of the fridge or have the funky smelling cubicle. I propose the interviewer be allowed to visit the applicant’s abode for ten minutes and have a 3 day window after they are hired, to see how they use the company’s communal property. For example: The guy who refuses to replace the paper towel roll that he just used or has his lasagna explode in the microwave and doesn’t clean it up, is the same guy who procrastinates on his projects and wreaks of fish. The problem could be solved by heading to his house and seeing the plates stacked in the sink because his dishwasher is broken (In reality he just doesn’t know the door has to be closed to start it) or has a nacho cheese stain on his plywood and cinder block coffee table.

The middle aged lady who is about 75 pounds overweight and spends most of her day chugging venti caramel macchiato frappucinos and taking sixteen smoke breaks is the same person who at home has six cats and a permanent ass imprint in their couch. Of course cat lady does nothing but complain about how inconsiderate her co-workers are, all the while forcing you to see the six thousand pictures of her cat in her cubicle and the constant smacking of her eating bags of M&M’s. Once again, a preemptive home visit would prevent her from ever setting her cloven hoofs into the office.

Of course we cannot forget the nagging bitch. She’s the one who writes notes on everything from the refrigerator to every square inch of her office. A quick pop in would show you that she actually is a domineering child abuser who’s husband is afraid of her and her kids have CPS on speed dial. Of course she gets promoted over you because no one wants her in their group for more than six months. All you can hope is that her husband goes Jet Li on her ass and buries her in the backyard before she becomes the next CEO.

Thursday, November 2

The New Coke

I am a self-proclaimed energy drink junkee. I have tried just about every one of them and feel I am informed enough to have an opinion about them. Not that I don’t have an opinion on everything and my opinion is actually more of a fact but I digress. Here is what I don’t understand about them; why are they so expensive? Red Bull is the quintessential drink and the leader in pricing. It is at least 2 bucks at any convenience store (Yes I know you can get it at Costco for less but I don’t need 24 of them right now) for an 8 ounce can. That’s $32 for a gallon. I can fill up my fucking car full of premium gas for less than that. Must be the shortage of taurine in the world.

Why is there such a discrepancy in size? You can get 8 ounces all the way up to 24 ounces in a can. Yet they all seem to have the same amount of energy crap in them. If I want 24 ounces of fluid in my body, it better be jagermeister or kool-aid (The most underappreciated drink of all time). Plus they have the dumbest names. NOS, Monster, Pimp Juice, Red Bull, Rockstar, Power Trip, Go-Girl, Wired, Green Dragon, and so on. What the fuck is Pimp Juice? Reminds me of a gene shower, from a velvet stick man, with some high top stilettos, and feather boa. NOS? I would rather have some real nitrous and it’s probably cheaper. Go-Girl? Is that what guys drink before going to the Blue Oyster for some cosmos? Rockstar is probably the only aptly named one. When you crash from that 24 ounce Rockstar you downed at lunch, you feel just like a coked out rocker who found himself curled up on the bathroom marble, with his finger in some groupies ass.

Wednesday, November 1

Here I Sit Broken Hearted......

Why do public bathrooms have those funky screws? You know the ones that can only be tightened and not removed. When did that start? Was there a rash of bathroom stall door thefts back in the sixties that led to people losing their pissing privacy?

Too Many Questions

Who the hell invented the webcam? This is something I have never understood, this webcam concept. First off, as far as men are concerned, the only thing the computer is good for is porn (Not me but other men, you reading this honey?). So why would you want anyone to have the opportunity to see your before and after face? Second, nothing good has ever come from a woman (Actually, I think it’s mostly teenage girls) using a webcam with a man on the receiving end. It either ends up getting the guy in trouble with the local or Federal authorities or the girl on YouTube. Has there ever in the history of webcams, been a decent picture of someone? People always look like a sleep deprived fish.

Wednesday, October 25

The Pregnancy Rebuttal

I love hearing women talk about how if men had to be the ones to get pregnant and deliver a baby, there would be no babies. Let’s expound a bit. Their first and foremost reason is that we couldn’t handle the pain. Then they infer that the baby is going to somehow be brought into this world through a man’s snake eye. Really? You’re telling me that this would be your hypothesis? Obviously the thing isn’t going to come out of my nose, or ear, or mouth, it’s coming out the brown eye. Just like a chicken. Now to top that off men would need to be able to dilate their bay door. It certainly wouldn’t be fair for women to dilate 10cm and not let a man, right? So now we are talking about a more even playing field. If you saw some of the big dogs that have come out of my back door, you would definitely see that with an additional 10 centimeters, I could deliver Shaq (But only up until he left Orlando).

So the delivery part is solved. Let’s talk sustenance. Obviously my moobs are not going to engorge to deliver the needed nutrition. But I do own a double beer helmet with two straws. I also know how to put water in a bottle with some formula. Sometimes I even wash out that white boogery stuff that gets stuck inside.

Now we have brought the ankle biter into the world and provided it with nutrition. Here comes the hard part. Motherly love. As much as I love kids, I love other things more; picking my nose, watching re-runs of Matlock, sleeping. So I am going to have to concede this part, which is why women give birth and take care of the baby. Men like shiny things and are drawn to them like a wino to a buzzing beer light, it would take very little to distract a man long enough to lose track of time. So much so that before the commercial is over, the baby is eighteen and stealing your money, your car, and your 20’s and 30’s.

Tuesday, October 24

Selfish Hypocrites

Sometimes when you are married, you have to do things you don’t want to. Not peeing on the toilet seat, going to weddings, and watching TV shows that you can’t stand. So I find myself watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I despise Ty Pennington the way I loathe Carrot Top and watching him prance around on television like a prepubescent gay troll, makes me want to slip in a puddle of AIDS.

Of course they have this heart wrenching story of a family of 8 and all the crap that they, and the rest of the world, have had to endure. Regardless of the show or the annoying family, I start wondering, who in the hell has six kids? Who in the hell has 8 people in their family and one bathroom? Why hasn’t CPS been called? I have some friends who sort of fit this model. They can’t afford to buy toilet paper to wipe their ass but they want to have more kids. Of course our society has some sort of annoying respect for them, like they are doing God’s work. These same people look down their nose at the Welfare mom in the same position. Why don’t we have disdain for these people? After all they are the ones causing Global Warming with their giant Suburbans. They are the people that shop at the devils lair known as Wal-Mart. This isn’t the 1950’s where you need an entire baseball team worth of kids to tend the farm.

Then to top it off, we cheer when these people get a hand out like on Extreme Makeover. We are told how unselfish they are, how giving they are, and yada yada. If these people are so giving, why don’t they give the house to a posse of homeless people? Aren’t we all giving? Don’t we all love our kids? However we have brains. We know that we can’t afford to support 6 kids, so we don’t have them. We don’t go and buy a Ferrari when we can only afford a Ford Escort. What’s the difference in selfishness?

Thursday, October 19

Death By Bloody Mary

There are 2 types of people in this world; assholes and douche-nozzles. Assholes are just that. They walk through life trying to make everyone miserable because their drunk stepfather used to berate them about their lack of self-esteem whilst removing a broom handle from their nether regions. Basically making sure that you realize they will never amount to anything more than the top of the custodial arts career ladder. Douche-nozzles are a little different. They are basically the blank stare on the face of life. The things they do tend to confound anyone with an ounce of intelligence. They don’t necessarily mean to be rude, they just don’t possess the brain power to fathom complex situations like opening a can of soda or putting their underwear on their ass instead of their head.

As I am walking into the local deli (One which I don’t usually frequent) with a couple co-workers, I notice a somewhat intelligent girl behind the counter making the sandwiches. Thank God. So my compatriot orders his sandwich from her and like Warren Buffet making a deal, she makes him a money sandwich. Sweet, I’m next. Then, like the cold squirt from a frozen garden hose, I hear the voice of disappointment. Some guy is making my sandwich now. I order a BBQ Beef with pepper jack cheese. After a few minutes, Sir Nozzle informs me that there is no pepper jack. So I order provolone. All the while I am very polite as not to end up with a nose goblin or some of his genetics on my sandwich. Next up, would you like lettuce and tomato. I must take a detour off the highway here for a second. I HATE tomatoes! I would rather stick my face in a jar of moldy mayonnaise that has been in the sun for a week than eat tomatoes (And I hate mayo). I clearly state to this asshat that I didn’t want tomatoes. PERIOD.

Fast forward to my office; where I commence to complain about the lack of copious amounts of BBQ Beef on my sandwich. For seven bucks, I demand at least the bread be covered. No bare spots. This was not the case. Then I saw it. Something red peaking out from under the lettuce. No, No, NOOOO! What part of no tomatoes didn’t you understand? Was it the “No” or the “Tomatoes”? Maybe your stepdad beat the hearing out of you or the meth lab fumes killed off what was left of your brain. Either way, you will join “Bagel Boy” in hell when my wrath comes to fruition. Prepare to choke on 50 pounds of tomato stuffed in every orifice you have and a couple I will create.

Wednesday, October 18

The Mystery Pit

We are a race of habits. Every human has habits that we do all the time (Which is why they’re called habits). Lately I have developed a new one. Every night after work I change from my monkey suit into my cat suit and I take a good whiff of the work my armpits have done for the day. This is a good measure of how much work I have done. The weird thing is that my left armpit always stinks but my right smells like a mountain meadow of rose petals after a light rainfall. Why? Now every day I have to check the pits to make sure the status quo is met. I may have to start douching the left pit.

Tuesday, October 17

Sherlock Has Nothing on J-Ro

One of my most disdainful things in the corporate world is the company kitchen. First off, most offices don’t have a place to eat but they frown on you eating at your desk. Of course they also frown on you being gone for an hour whilst you gnaw on a crusty sandwich from the deli down the street. I, being the frugal guy I am, always bring in my lunch. Not so much because I am cheap but because I am too lazy to think of somewhere to go for lunch. Takes too much effort to round up the troops and actually agree on a place to go. Another habit I have is bringing something for breakfast. I get in way too early to have time to eat at home so I bring in the occasional bag of bagels or breakfast bar.

Thus brings the mystery of “Who ate my motherfucking bagels?”. When my lovely wife or I hit the grocery store, I always grab a bag of bagels. Preferably Lender’s pre-sliced plain bagels (Blueberry if I am feeling spunky). I take the whole bag to work and keep it in the fridge for the week. Being a normal, common sense type person, I assume I can trust people to not eat my food. And in the past that has always been the case. Then the unthinkable happens, someone ate 3 of my bagels in one day. I can understand an occasional grabbing of the wrong lunch but there were no other bagels in the fridge at the time. I proceeded to eat the last bagel and put a note on the empty bag saying “Thank you for eating my bagels, I was on a diet and didn’t need the extra calories” and put it back in the fridge. A couple hours later I notice the bag in the trash. Obviously Sir “Eat My Bagels” had read it and wanted to hide the evidence of his horrid crime. Like a mass murderer bleaching his house, this person wanted to bury the crime.

Fast forward to today. I don’t have my beloved bagels and thusly decide to eat an early lunch. When I get to the kitchen, a fellow employee is doing the same. This individual is, to say the least, skating on thin ice as far as his employment is concerned. He mentions he didn’t eat breakfast either and was starving. So we started talking about eating lunch out of vending machines and my college lunches that consisted of a box of Thin Mints. He then mentioned he once was starving in the morning and ate someone’s bagels out of the fridge. My ears pin back immediately and like the proverbial tea kettle, my blood begins to boil. However, I remain calm until he blurts out, “The person left me a mean note on the bag”. So I asked him how many he ate. He responded with “About three, I was starving.” I have yet to determine the end to this debauchery but I do like my revenge lightly seared with some Salmonella on the inside. I’ll keep you posted.

Monday, October 16

Spank the Monkeys

My office just instituted a revised dress code. Seems that the monkeys were having a hard time interpreting the old one, and continued to push the envelope of “Business Casual”. Luckily I work in California, which has one of the looser dress codes in the country, so khakis and a nice shirt are acceptable as business casual. As opposed to New York where a full suit and tie are considered casual; It’s only “Business Dress” if you put the stick in your ass for the day. This change in policy was instituted 2 weeks ago. It should be as fresh in their minds as the dookie they just heaved across their cubicle. Alas, you can’t teach monkeys to type or how to dress.

So imagine my surprise when I cross paths with Curious George, fully decked out in his wrinkled khakis, un-tucked and wrinkled beach bum shirt, and a pair of crisp clean Keds. I thought a college degree was a pre-requisite to working here, obviously common sense is not. Of course his manager won’t say anything to him. It might hurt his feelings and whooping monkey sounds would reverberate out of the conference room and break the other monkeys concentration. So instead, we will just look at this and all the other monkeys the way you look at an invalid trying to reach their piss bucket or a baby sticking a paperclip in a wall socket, with sadness and remorse.

Back to Basics

I’ve been slacking a little on the blog front in the past couple weeks. However, you are in luck, I am off the meds and about to drop some venom on you, oh gentle reader. This is the first in what will be a week long tirade. So sit back, grab some popcorn, and try not to get your feelings hurt.

Tuesday, October 3

Quadruple Standards

At what point did the religious right decide that the corner of an areola is much more grotesque than watching an obese half naked man bob for pig balls in a pool of monkey blood? Who decided that Janet Jackson’s nipple is more disgusting than watching sixteen different angles of Anthony Munoz‘s broken leg in the Super Bowl?

What happened to our common sense? It went right out the window next to Dennis Franz's bare elephant ass on NYPD Blue. Why do I get to watch some millionaire doctor pummel a poor woman’s interior organs while giving her a breast implant but the half falling off nipple is digitally hidden from view? Why am I able to see a breast augmentation of a man trying to be a woman and the nipple isn’t blurred out until the first saline fun bag is implanted and according to the FCC he is now a woman?

Why am I forced to listen to someone on Fear Factor yak a lung on the ground but the actual bile that is spewed is pixilated? How come the words ass and bitch can be said in almost any context on Primetime but the word tit cannot unless referring to a small rodent? How come I can hear the word shit on basic cable but I can’t see the shit? Which one is more natural? The most useful word in the English language, one that can be used as an adverb, pronoun, adjective, verb and noun cannot be said but I can just about see the act on an episode of Nip Tuck?

How come any decent radio show host can literally give you the play by play on a porn with insightful adjectives, analogies and colloquials, but porn is looked down upon by 50% of America while the other 50% have a collection that numbers more than Netflix’s pre-order of Pirates of the Caribbean II? Why? Because America is nothing but hypocrisy and double standards. Much like the ranting politician who tells us that weed is a gateway drug to heroin and homosexuality yet when he gets to his apartment, calls up his underage homosexual lover to bring over a sack, a bong and a 12” vibrator.

Tuesday, September 26

Playing the Percentages

I love my office building. As I am walking out the front door, a rather large woman was talking on her cell phone and managed to walk into the glass window next to the door. Besides the obvious reaction of laughing jovially in front of her, I also had a thought that how can we expect people to drive a car while talking on a phone when real life evidence says they can’t even talk and walk at the same time.

This spawned a new theory. There are two types of bad cell phone people. The first and most obvious group is women, all of them. Women literally use their entire brain while talking. They pick up on everything from words to intonation to the person’s breath, all while noticing the shoes they’re wearing. Which means that women have zero capacity left in their brains to do anything but listen.

The second group is men, all of them. You see, men only use about 1/18th of their brain when having a conversation. This leaves them with a lot of excess capacity while on the phone. However there are a few other essential functions that a man’s brain must also do at the same time. 1/5th is used to continually process how their sports team is going to make the playoffs. 1/8th is used to think about what food he ate is causing his funky gastrol issues. 1/10th is used by his finger which is currently in either his nose or ear. 1/12th is used by his eyes that are staring at what looks to be a nice piece of ass down the street, but in actuality is a 200lb trannie. 1/6th is used to replay each mind-blowing twist and turn on My Name Is Earl last night. The remaining 3/4ths are used to think about porn or their last failed sexual encounter.

You may notice that those numbers don’t quite add up. You’re wrong. At least that’s what I am told by women who swear men aren’t as smart as they think.

Random Rhetoricals II

I am so glad my tax dollars go towards putting annoying, chirping speakers on every street corner so that the blind can cross the street. Blind people, getting hit by cars at intersections was at an all time high.

Thank God that the FAA lifted the ban on liquids. My hands were bruised and bloody from constantly having to go palm one out in the lavatory sans Jergens.

Kurt Cobain was the greatest American Singer to ever stick a shotgun in his mouth.

Why do people call it a “Short Bus”? From all the ones I have seen, they are about the same height as a normal bus. Maybe we should call them the “Not-So-Long Bus”.

Monday, September 25

Life in a Bag

Continuing on my recent theme of food and it's quirky tendencies; I have noticed a new phenomonon regarding Chex Mix. Upon opening a bag, notice that there is a pecular secular tendency.

For example, the actual Chex, whether white, yellow or brown tend to group together. They are the peace-knicks of the bag with their fake tolerance and their smug little attitude.

However the large snack crackers tend to always be by themselves. I think they are most likely the Goth kids of the bag, always depressed and alone.

Next up we have the Rye Chips. They are definitely the stoners of the mix. First they are always in pairs, second they like to hide in the darkest reaches of the bag and they are always laying down for naps.

The garlic sticks seem to chill with everyone and they have interesting markings that appear to be the same for all of them but are just slightly different. I call them the sluts of the bag because they have been next to every other shape and the markings remind me of how every slut has the same tattoo on their lower back.

The pretzels are a little trickier. The circle ones are of the "Alternative" lifestyle. They are supposed to hang out only with the square pretzels but instead they choose to "Party" with the garlic sticks (Note how easily one gets stuck in the other). The square ones, noticing that the round ones don't want to do the natural thing, live a lonely life filled with jergens lotion and National Geographics.

Monday, September 18

Yet Another Conspiracy

I have blown the lid off the great gum conspiracy. Do you remember 10 years ago when you could buy and 18 stick pack of chewing gum for 50¢? Right next to that would be a 6 stick pack of Trident. You would laugh at the moron that would pay more money for less gum. Well my friend, you are now the moron. Look at the gum aisle next time you are at your local bodega. You will notice you can’t buy that 18 pack anymore. In fact you’re lucky if you can get 15 sticks of flavorless cardboard for less than a buck. Now it is proliferated by “Boutique” gums like Orbitz and Dentyne. Inside these packs are 5-10 pieces that are half the size of the old sticks and you are now paying twice as much. What the hell? Not only that, but the greatest gum of all time is nary around anymore. Of course I speak of Big League Chew. BLC dispensed with the stick and sold itself by the pound. You knew what you were getting and never paid more than 50¢. I challenge you Mr. Wrigley, to develop a long lasting 20 pack of gum and charge less than 75¢. In fact I triple dog dare you. But I know you won’t, mostly because you’re dead, but also because you sir are an oppressor of society and I put you in the same category as Hitler and Stalin (And Rosie O’Donnell). Fess up to your crime or be prepared for the wrath and fury of a fed up nation!

Nose Goblins

This one is not for the squeamish or for that matter, most women. I have had a theory for a long time that I slowly have quantified and now will unleash on the general populace (Or at the least the 3 people in the population that read this shitty blog). I am a firm believer in toughening things up. For example, an athlete destroys his muscles by lifting weights in order to get them to recuperate into an even stronger muscle. The same thing happens with the human immune system. In general the youngest and oldest of the human race get sick the most often. Babies and toddlers are always getting sick and have snotty noses. The old fogeys have been through hell and back through their life yet end up dying of something lame like pneumonia or a broken hip.

This leads to my theory; I call it the Nose Goblin Hypothesis or NGH. All of our children should be exposed to small amounts of bacteria through their formative years. They comply by eating dirt, paste, and toxic materials hidden under the kitchen sink. Every time they do this in non-lethal amounts, it makes them that much stronger. So I get to thinking, what is readily available to any kid (Or adult for that matter) that contains bacteria, is available in abundance and tastes good? That’s right, the good ole fashion booger. Nose Goblins, Green Goo, Nose Mortar, or whatever you want to call it, it is the perfect immunization for all of human kind.

You ever notice that germ freaks, like I have discussed in the past, seem to get sick more often than your average nose picking, fingernail chewing, ass wiping slob? Without bacteria, our systems cease to work correctly. All this anti-bacterial bullshit that is being peddled to you during Oprah re-runs is slowly destroying your immune system. Since most people are stupid and think you have to buy something in order for it to be good for you (IE bottled water), I have decided to mass produce a booger based energy bar. I may sell a liquid supplement as well. This way I can make more money off of stupid people. After all, what’s the point of harvesting nose goblins if you can’t share your crop with the villagers?

Thursday, September 14

The Scarlet Neck

My interest in the degradation of American society is extremely vast. I enjoy wondering why our country has turned into a giant bedpan with 300 million little turds floating in it. From cell phones to fat asses, we are a lazy, laxadazical, wastrel of a country. Another perfect example of the patheticness of our society is our second most watched “Sport”. Don’t jump to conclusions; I am not referring to the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest (Which interestingly is always won by a Japanese guy. You would think we would have the market cornered in piehole stuffing.). I am referring to the neck burning “Sport” of NASCAR.

There is nary a sport as strenuous as racing. Anyone who has spent even 20 laps on a road course will agree. So I am not raging against the drivers here but instead the fans. Those lovable, trucker hat wearing, jolly, Santa like rednecks with their oh so stylish rainbow colored t-shirts proclaiming their love for a driver who would rather put a tire mark on their forehead than talk to NASCAR-fan. The fact that close to 100,000 of these sheeple gather at each race amazes me. Can you imagine how many cans of Schlitz must be consumed at these events? I’ll bet the local possum community declares a red alert for the weekend. Nothing beats a good deep fried possum, except maybe a deep fried Schlitz.

Turn Left, turn left, turn left, turn left, repeat 3-400 times and you have a winner. Chiropractors should set up booths at NASCAR races; they could make a killing fixing “Left Neck”. Of course 90% of the spectators don’t have insurance, but they can pay the $100 a pop duckets to get in. And if they are really lucky they can go home with a drivers tire. Yes, that is considered a souveneer. Not a hat or the aforementioned t-shirt but a fucking tire.

Hardcore NASCAR fan complains that people only watch for the crashes and doesn’t appreciate the skill it takes to race. I think those people are hoping that a car ends up in the stands to take out NASCAR fan in a fiery crash. Then there taxes would go down because there would be 20 less welfare cases in the state. At least NASCAR fan saves a little money by actually driving their home to the race and living in the infield for a week. Yee Haw.

Wednesday, September 13

Ode to Pops

Everybody loves their dad. He is that guy who will do just about anything for his kids. Anything that is, besides changing his wardrobe.
At what point does dad go from being a hip twenty something guy to a fashion deficient source of jokes.
At what point does wearing a NASCAR shirt, replete with 26 different colors, become the epitomy of fashion?
At what point do you regress from shoes with laces to shoes with Velcro?
At what point does the thought of keeping the leisure suit forever come into his mind? At what point does the leather jacket with patches come back in style?
At what point does he feel that his pants pockets simply are not big enough and he needs to resort to a black leather fanny pack?
At what point do Wrangler jeans, that are two sizes too small, become the hip new accessory to said fanny pack?
At what point does the cell phone become a fashion accessory for your belt?
At what point does the trucker hat go from being a cool head piece for kids to the bat signal for dorky dad?
At what point do you no longer update your eyeglass style from hipster to wire and bottle cap?
At what point do Tevas and socks become cool?
One question I do know the answer to: At what point does wearing tight khaki gym teacher shorts become cool? The day you became a teenager and he was too afraid to get neutered. So instead he decided to slowly strangle his nads.

Friday, September 8

Brown Tide

By now every cubicle camper knows that when you get a bunch of women working together, you get the dreaded red tide. For whatever reason, pheromones, hormones, or just to be angry together, they all start to go with the "Flow" at the same time of the month. This can be quite horrific for men (Unless they're hermies) and wonderful for women. Up until today I never thought that this miraculous phenomonon could occur in any other species until I walked into the bathroom at 8:00 am. You see, I always use the bathroom at 8:00 am and if I am lucky, I get my second "Wind" after lunch. The last few days though, my schedule has been stopped short by a full facility. It seems every other guys dog is scratching at the backdoor at the same time. Even worse, I am noticing guys making the walk of shame through the hallway and I find myself hurrying to get the coveted handi stall before the "Game" is sold out. Maybe there are pheromones in a mans brown eye, who knows?

Wednesday, August 30

Death of a Good Citizen

As you already know, I am not one to be speechless but I think it may have finally happened. You see yours truly had to go to traffic court. Due to my own laziness and a lack of accurate info from the obviously confused Panchorelli wannabe, I ended up having to spend an hour or so in Hells sixth level. Stick with me here because this folk tale is longer than my usual diatribes. Let’s start with some background, shall we?

Imagine rush hour traffic moving along at a hasty 25 mph. You are in the middle lane in your, new to you, car with tinted side windows (A big no-no in California where you can legally smoke weed for your glaucoma while being married to your dog). You notice a motorcycle highway patrol on the side of the freeway writing up another deposit for the State’s general fund and decide to roll down your windows knowing that your felonious tint could get you a ticket. You pass by and all is well until the fireworks go off behind you and you start imagining the curb seat scenario that is to come. Long story short, I get nailed with a fix it ticket that I can allegedly get signed off on by any officer of the law.

Weeks later I attempt to get it signed off on by 3 separate law entities before getting someone to put their chicken scratch on the bottom of the ticket. I mail it in on time and forget all about the inconvenience. I come back from a vacation at the Happiest Place on Earth (No not the Bunny Ranch you sickos) to find a warrant for my arrest in the mail. Which seems a like a strange way to inform someone they have broken the law. I was half expecting the SWAT team to batter down my door any minute with the tone and wording of the letter. Being a law abiding fellow, I go to the Sheriffs department the next day to turn myself in. In actuality, I just signed a paper saying I would go to court in 2 months. 2 MONTHS!!

Being I am an upstanding citizen, I am a little nervous going to traffic court. So when the day finally comes I leave work early to go to what is the equivalent of the DMV mixed with the Principals office with a dash of used car dealer thrown in. First off I have to pay to park. This is in the fucking suburbs for God’s sake, why am I paying to park, to waist my time, to be around God’s forsaken, and I am sure to pay a fine. As I am walking through a sea of dilapidated human movers, I notice that everyone I see has decided to dress up in their Sunday lawn mowing best. Since I am early and quickly find my department, I decide to head in early and get a preview of the proceedings. Think of it as a Flea Market full of excuses.

A few initial observations. Most people are here for some sort of ridiculous fix it ticket like myself. Some examples being the aforementioned tinted side windows, no front license plate, broken lights and windows, and loud stereos or exhaust; Basically a ricer’s dream. However, 90% of these morons got these tickets while driving on a suspended license or without insurance (Real bright). Second, people are freaking poor. Almost everyone would rather do 6 days community service than pay a $600 fine. Personally my time is worth 2-3 times that much so I would just whip out the Amex Centurion card and get the fuck out of there. There were also quite a few people who had no problem just doing straight time. To you felony virgins, that means going to jail. Yes, jail. How’s that for a shitty day? You go to traffic court and leave in cuffs and a jump suit.

Everyone has heard the term that excuses are like assholes. Let me tell you that there are a lot of assholes with excuses too. That’s what I love about the judicial system; these people skate through life because everyone else has too much to do to actually make them face the music they deserve (I prefer Celine Dione as a great punishment). Here, the judge doesn’t care that you had to drive because your kid and your babies momma were sick and you had to go get some heroin, errrr, I mean medicine. Plus they dole out fines like a fat chick at Starbucks. “I’ll take a Venti driving on a suspended, with extra no insurance, light on the speeding, with two pumps of DUI. Thanks.”

The degradation of society is also on display. However, here you have to answer to the judge or the bailiff. Two men, dressed in wife beaters that they must have bought for the occasion since they still had the fold creases in them, were chewing gum. They had the gall to get riled up when the bailiff asked them to spit it out or the judge would get upset when she gets back. Another douche nozzle’s phone rang during the proceedings, clearly illiterate since there were at least sixteen “No Cell Phones” signs and twelve “No Talking signs”. Luckily the bailiff simply walked them out of the room and gave them a Failure To Appear on their record.

After an hour and a half of waiting, it was my turn. I simply walked up to the podium and explained that I had sent in my proof of correction but the postmark was a day late. Interestingly, all of it was mailed back to me plus copies of the envelope. I am sure it took 20 minutes to put the package together and mail it to me. Thus costing more in labor than the fine I paid. The judge simply said to go to the Fines Room and pay the original fine. Sweet, done and done.

Maybe not. Have you ever made a wrong turn leaving a ball game and end up in a part of town where the locks on your door all of a sudden seem as safe as a Ming vase in the hands of an epileptic? That’s how this room was. One long winding line that could have easily been a waiting area for a Police lineup and I was the token white guy. I just closed my eyes like a new prisoner getting his first shower rape and waited for it to end.

Friday, August 11

Thank You Mr Science Teacher

When I was in elementary school, every year we had the same stupid science project where we stuck some kids baby tooth into a glass of cola and watched how, in 3 weeks, the tooth started to decay. My question is; who the fuck is leaving soda in their mouth for 3 weeks?

Odiferous Safes

America’s energy woes are long and increasingly becoming worse. One major cause is the heating and cooling of buildings, both residential and commercial. Which makes me wonder why buildings are not constructed in the same manner as elevators. Have you ever noticed that elevators wreak? How is it that a smell can stay in an elevator for so long? There are a few common odiferous stenches, ranging from the very common cigarette smoke to the stinky onion sandwich and of course the fat man spewing pools of rancid underarm sweat smell. My point is, if these smells can live in an elevator that opens and closes constantly, why can’t we create our living spaces out of the same type of insulation?

Monday, August 7

Why Not Argyle?

I have a shirt in my closet that I wear all the time. It is comfy, simple and goes with everything. It’s almost as if it is an extension of my skin. So much so, that I think I may get a tattoo of the shirt on my sleeve. If that sounds absurd, think about how absolutely trashy the concept of a tattoo sleeve is. Why would anyone permanently adhere the ugliest artwork onto their arms for all to see? It is the same reason people buy ridiculously overpriced designer clothes. So someone will ask them about it and they can feel cool explaining where they got it and how much it cost. Plus it is so anti-establishment.

How do you get that high paying job, or any job for that matter, that you would wear a short sleeved shirt? Much like the chicken and egg, which comes first, the dead end job or the tattoo sleeve? When you are at a bar, do you roll up your sleeves hoping the girl notices the naked pictures of your ex-girlfriend, in order to start a conversation? Isn’t this just like the rich guy who makes sure his Rolex is always front and center? So many questions. Maybe I should tattoo them on my arm so I don’t forget them.

Friday, August 4

Fattys Must Pay

Put down your Egg McMuffin’s and tune in, this ones for you fattys. In America, we have a great system of freedom and punishment. You are free to do what you want as long as you are willing to take on the punishment of your actions. Smokers can smoke (At least for the next couple years), drinkers can drink (Irish unite), and fattys can stuff their piehole’s with, well, pies.

We have a severe problem in America with healthcare. You see if you don’t work, don’t make any money, and suckle on the tit of Uncle Sam (Dude has huge areolas by the way), you can’t get healthcare insurance. At least that’s my take on it. I notice that smokers pay higher premiums than non-smokers. This makes sense since they will be dying soon by slipping in a puddle of their own phlegm and choking on their own lung lymphoma. But why don’t we make fattys pay more for insurance. This is pretty easy. No tests to take, no mouth swabs, just use your peepers. If the patient has 3 chins, gets winded getting up on the exam table, or tries to eat the tongue depressors, then they are red stamped on their chart and maybe their forehead for good measure.

Why can’t we do this? Because we don’t want to offend the fattys of America. After all, they stimulate the economy with their insane insuppressible appetite for food and Lane Bryant sales.

Wednesday, August 2

Cracker Monkey

At what point did we become completely inept at discerning reality? I am writing this while eating one of my favorite snacks, Animal Crackers. So I look at the bag and notice numerous omissions and downright mis-truths. This is bothersome because I do not like to be lied to, especially by a monkey hanging from the “S” in “Crackers”. Let’s start right there, shall we? These are NOT “Crackers”. These are cookies. Anyone who thinks crackers have nonfat milk in them should be forced to eat Ritz crackers in a cereal bowl for breakfast. But “Cracker” sounds so much more healthy (If not a bit racist) than cookie.

Now the previously mentioned monkey is holding a balloon that says “Low Fat”. Really? So you’re telling me these “Crackers” are actually good for me? Sweet….err I mean salty, after all they are “Crackers”. Flip the bag over though and 1 serving gets you 10% of your daily carb count but no fat. Last and least are the warnings. When did Animal “Crackers” need a warning? Aren’t they about the most non-threatening snack ever made? Even the Lion looks like he parties with the kids. But since we have produced a mountain of mutant children (Thanks to our lack of Darwinism), we have to tell you that there are trace amounts of peanuts and tree nuts in these. I thought we established that these are “Crackers”? What “Crackers” have peanuts in them? I smell a conspiracy. I think Congress must subpoena the monkey and have him testify to the fact that these are not “Crackers” but in fact cookies.

Note – I consumed approximately 25 “Crackers” while writing this and have used up 25% of my daily carb intake. Fucking lying monkey!

Monday, July 31

Story For Today

Allow me to set the scene like a Shakespearian Maestro.....

Your humble narrator is walking down a downtown street in "Any City", USA and is approached by a fine, upstanding street citizen. Let's listen in.....

Citizen Dirt - "Do you have any change?"

{Narrator digs around in pocket and jingles numerous coins in his hand for effect}

Narrator - "Actually, yes I do"

{Narrator continues walking past Citizen Dirt}

The End

I Know How Lance Bass Feels

For once, the crazy butt cheek puckered liberals of America may be right. Hold your gasping breath gentle reader for I have said the ghastly simply to prove a point.

So here I am, finishing up the last leg of a truly great American pastime; Selling something on EBay. The process is so delectably simple. Post your ad, pay your fees, wait, wait, wait, sell item, print shipping label, box and mail the item. Ahh, that last one gets a little hairy. Since my box is just slightly heavier than 16oz drop weight, I have to take it to the local Post Office (I realize I could take it almost anywhere to drop it off but I am lucky enough to work across the street from the oldest Post Office in town. It’s quite quaint and charming, more on that in a second).

I stroll in to the light morning air and across the busy downtown street to the sight of many metaphorical killing jokes. Through the golden doors, which interestingly are automatic even though the doors must be 80 years old, and into the lobby where upon a metal detector has been installed. I am all for safety and hate terrorism just as much as the next patriot but this seems a little much. No bother, I empty my pockets and place my non-ticking box on the conveyor belt. Now gentle reader, I know you will be shocked to here that the detector went off, alerting everyone to my evil plot of mailing an inert package. After a brief wanding and a latex enema, I am on my way. America is safe. Of course I cannot just drop off my package. No, packages might contain 2 tons of manure and ammonium nitrate, so I get to wait in line for 10 minutes to tell the lady that I have removed all plastic explosives from the box before I taped it up.

Is this really necessary? Is a medium sized city’s Post Office really a target for anything other than nerdy stamp collectors? Do we really need this much protection? I for one emphatically say yes. Now excuse me while I pull that latex glove out of my ass.

Sorry About That

So that last post about a month ago not only wreaked of effort but it was also a month ago. I am working on a more consistent approach for my devout reader (Singular, please note that). So here goes.......

Thursday, June 1

Metro Pimp Player

Rollin on four-four’s wit no tread
Up and down da block like Barney and Fred
Kidneys bouncing cuz I couldn’t afford
The shoes to go on my ’86 Ford

I spew rhymes like a cunning linguist
Vocabulary so limited
Nothing rhymes with Linguist
Dammit

My condo is blowin up from the heat
Of a hot day, A/C is nothing but an extra treat
500k doesn’t go a long way
Here in LA

I’m a Metro pimp player
Matching khakis with my I-Pod, Love that John Mayer
Head bouncing, like I’m in the groove
Real gangstas comin up the street so I better move
To the other side before they shank me
Headin to the clinic to test for the HIV

I’m a Metro pimp player

Buyin rounds of cosmos at the local pub
Braggin on my new double dubs
Ho’s think I’m harmless
Guys think my hairs a mess
They don’t understand it’s the new style
Of the metro pimp player

I’m a dying breed among the uninitiated
Maybe its time for a new look
Emo, Punk, and grunge are so played out
The metro pimp player is what I’m all about

Tuesday, May 30

Germaphobes

Bird Flu, AIDS, and Herpes of the mouth have nothing on this new disease of the mind. I have never seen so many intelligent people fall victim to something so utterly stupid in my life. Tulips and internet stocks had more legitimate reasoning than germaphobia. You see it everywhere, public places, restrooms, doting moms.

Of course my favorite is the public restroom. The germaphone goes into the bathroom without touching the handle on the door, does their business, washes up, uses the towel to open the door back up, but never thinks about all the bacteria in the air; the bacteria that is hundreds of times worse than bacteria on porcelain (Which has been proven to be minimal). Maybe a gas mask would be in order.

The other is the mom who is constantly cleaning their kids with anti-bacterial soap, wipes and acid baths. The kid needs to be exposed to germs or they will never develop an immune system. I say let the kid be Farmer Fred and go pick some nose goblins. Then swallow them down with the pride of a fat man at an all you can eat Crisco buffet.

Wednesday, May 17

Another I-Cubed Sighting

Today I saw an I-Cubed attempt to use a gas station water hose to fill his tires with air.

Idiotic-Idiosyncratic-Idioms

Every so often you get to see the not so rare and beautiful city dwelling species; the Idiotic-Idiosyncratic-Idioms (From her out referred to as the “I-Cubed”. I saw two such species on my way through the thickly overgrown streets of downtown. The first was in his most natural of habitats; the oversized truck. This particular fauna was an older male with the normal gray markings on its head and the usual white coffee cup in one hand. He was maneuvering his chariot looking for a place to leave it while he attended to his ritualistic daily patterns. However this particular parking lot has two entrances. One has a very obvious tollbooth and a sign saying “Public Entrance”. The second has no tollbooth, a card reader, a large gate, and an extremely large sign that says “Monthly Parking Only” with more verbage to the fact that daily public parking was down the road at the other entrance.

This I-Cubed pulled right up to the gate marked “Monthly Parking” and began to stare wildly at the card reader. He probably mistook it for a mate but one can not be sure. During this long break from his usual caffeinated induced drudgery, two cars pull up behind him waiting to get in. At this point the I-Cubed realizes he cannot get in by hitting the card reader with his dinosaur bone and attempts to back his chariot out. After nearly hitting the car behind him, he begins to use his distress call and puts his chariot in reverse. The two cars behind him realize they have an I-Cubed on their hands, attempted to back out of the driveway. Unfortunately for all, this particular street is quite busy and neither car can back up. At this point the I-Cubed begins to resemble a hominid in heat and begins to beat on his chariot’s steering wheel with ruthless abandon, sending blaring calls through the skies of the urban jungle.

Fearing for my life, I begin to pick up my pace. I know from experience that these episodes can get extremely dangerous. After a block I looked back as the I-Cubed shook its hairy paw and roared out it’s window.

Monday, May 15

Shit If I Know

Why does everyone tap their watch when the battery dies? Are they trying to wake up the watch fairy?

Wednesday, May 10

My Daily Walk

I always wonder what I am going to write about in this Blog. Today was no exception. Every day I try and get out of my office downtown and take a walk. It gives me a little exercise and I get to see some great fodder. First I head down the elevator. This is usually an experience but luckily there was only a co-worker with me. Of course this is someone I have never talked to in my life who figures its important to make idle chit-chat. I’m not a fan of talking for talking’s sake. It’s only 30 seconds of silence, would it kill you to keep your trap shut?

So I roll out of my daily abode and across the street to hit the bank. I have to pay for parking so I have to make this trip once a week. I walk by “Cesar Chavez Park”. Yes they named a park after this tyrant but I digress. Let the fun begin.

The first person I come across is a 200 lb girl who somehow wedged herself in what appears to be a teal, chiffon evening dress. Not a pretty sight. And of course I am behind her. Then I see her shoes. Picture a donkey hoof sitting on top of a popsicle stick with a 10 penny nail sticking out the bottom. The scariest part is I noticed some guys checking out this oompa loompa. Shudder to think.

Next comes the random old man sitting in a fold out chair on the corner of a busy street. Then the typical white garbage in his lovely sweat stained wife beater. Follow this up with another dreg of society coming out of a Subway telling everyone not to go in there “Cuz they a bunch of motherfucking faggots.” Of course he has his four year old girl in tow. Followed by the hundred’s of well dressed lobbyists around the Capitol. And last but not least, the two fully tattooed and pierced gentlemen talking about one of them trying to get a promotion; most likely at the local Carl’s Jr.

And some wonder why I go on these walks.

Friday, May 5

I Wonder

You ever notice that the handicapped bathroom stalls all flush with more force than the other stalls? Do Handis naturally have bigger droppings?

Monday, April 24

The Cost of Stupidity

At what point do we look at ourselves and say, “Wow, I am a dumb fuck”? Of course that will never happen to me due to my incredible level of intelligence, narcissism and general good looks. However it needs to happen to a lot of people. Let the diatribe light up.

I was watching one of the many “Reality” shows about rich and mildly retarded but fully siliconed girls. This one was called “Daddy’s Spoiled Little Girl”. I won’t even bore you with the mundane details of how they spent $19k on 3 snowmobiles that they will never ride or the 100k they gambled in Tahoe in a weekend. No these two 30 year old girls (I use the term girls more to describe their mental capacity then their age) live off of daddy and have nothing to show for it. Neither of them could construct a coherent thought with both their brains yet they have what many intelligent people want: money.

Which leads me to that annoying little saying; “It’s not the destination but the journey.” These two dunder-sluts will never know happiness outside of their tiaras. They will never know the joy of accomplishing or creating. Of course they will know the heartbreak of one night stands and STD’s, but that’s another story.

Wednesday, April 12

The New National Pastime

I never understood the reasoning behind why baseball is considered the “National Pastime”. Back in the 1920’s, when the only thing to do was watch baseball and bake pies, I could see its allure. However, in the present day, it is obvious that baseball ranks right down there with jumping rope and listening to Al Franken.

This is why I think we should no longer call baseball the national pastime. I am here forth, petitioning that the new national pastime be: Mowing down a Big Mac while driving your SUV and yapping on the cell phone. It can even be a sport. We could call it the Obnoxilon. Which is short for Obnoxious, annoying, selfish – athlon. We would rule the Olympics in this sport. Of course it would take 20 years for the athletes to be whittled down to only the top 10 in America but what a glorious moment it would be to see our finest big mouthed, obese, self-loathing Americans on the medal stand.

Thursday, April 6

Society's Degradation

Offices are the crux of our society. They are where we all come together; people of differing backgrounds and cultures. It is the perfect microcosm of why America currently sucks.

To the guy who listens to the radio 2 notches too high: This isn’t a street corner and you’re not in your Impala with the 15’s bumping. Turn it down.

To the chick who thought the all you can eat fried platter would be a good lunch choice: You aren’t at your previous job at Long John Silver’s, I don’t want to smell like a Mexican Restaurant the rest of the day.

To the two jackholes who think it’s funny to shoot rubber bands at each other: This isn’t third grade. Grow up you freaking delinquents.

To the entire department I share a printer with: Either print your 250 page report somewhere else, or at least come and get it sometime in the next couple hours. This isn’t your kitchen sink piled high with dishes, others need to use it.

To the wandering guy who talks to everyone constantly: Get to work or go home, this isn’t a singles bar nor is it a poetry reading.

To the speakerphone girl: I know you don’t lift weights at home but is it so hard to pick up the receiver before dialing? I don’t want to hear the ringing or the yapping.

To the guys who are supposed to send out the same important email everyday but constantly forget: You send it every flipping day, how do you forget 3 days a week? Do you forget your kids in the car 3 days a week or to feed your dog 3 days a week?

We live in a society here people. It’s not all about you.

Thursday, March 23

Barista Bashing

If the barista at Starbucks puts the opening of my lid over the seam of the cup again, I am going to rip the ring out of her nose and plant it in her forehead.

Wednesday, March 22

Tramp Stamps

Ahh, teenage rebellion, is there anything quite as cute and stupid? Our parents used to wear really tight jeans that you needed pliers to zip up. Then it was really hardcore to get something other than your ears pierced. And now that we find prison art to be so passé’, girls are going that extra mile to make themselves stand out from the adult crowd and fit right in with their peers. Yes, nothing says “I am different” than doing exactly what your friends are.

Of course I am talking about the phenomenon of girls getting tattoos above their ass-crack. Whether you call it “Fart Art”, “The Cum Target”, or my personal favorite, the “Tramp Stamp”, it’s still the same thing. Lame! Come on girls, how many of you are going to get a butterfly or a rose permanently planted above your brown-eye? It simply isn’t rebellious. In fact it’s pretty sad and pathetic. Our society cannot continue to try and one up itself every generation. What’s next, forking your tongue? Oh wait, that’s being done to. Why don’t teens just cut off their heads and let Darwinism take affect?

You! Yeah, you with the 63 tattoos, 24 piercings, and shallow sense of self worth, get your pin cushion face and your Crayola scribbled body out of the gene pool so there is more room for us.

Tuesday, March 21

Long Time, No Drivel

You could say I have been on vacation for a couple weeks. You would be dead wrong though. In all actuality, I got a new job and have had zero time to update this. Of course I have a little time at home but this is not an at-home blog. This is an “I am bored at work and feel like yapping about stuff that is completely unimportant to everyone but me” blog. Therefore, you can now welcome me back with the praise and fanfare I so duly deserve.

So I have this new job. It’s at one of those newer style financial places. Not a brokerage but more of an Institutional Investor. I’ll let that fly over your head and splatter on the wall for a second. Great! Now this place is filled with mostly mid to late twenties people. Of course along with that demographic goes a few types of people. There are the corporate wannabe’s, the happy-go-luckys and the fresh out of college kids. Then there is my least favorite……..

The “I am just smart enough to get a good job but I don’t want anyone to take me seriously so I will wear my shittiest clothes to work everyday and go undercover, incognito.” Jack-hole. You know the guy. Whenever a big fish client or upper management is in the office, the front reception sends out the “Make sure and dress nicely” email. Of course this douche still comes in his Saturday morning worst with his frayed jeans, oversized button up t-shirt, and his nicest pair of gym shoes. I want to just come up behind him and put my fist through his skull, dig around for the brain inside, find nothing and walk away.

It’s like they need a map through life to keep from falling of the planet.

Thursday, March 2

MySpace or Pathetic Losers

What is the point of MySpace? I'm a 28 year old married man with a 4 year old son. I have about 10 close friends not including my wife's friends. I barely have time to see or talk to them. I am certainly not the busiest guy I know and I rarely spend as much time with friends and family that I would like. So why in the hell do people join MySpace? From what I understand, it is just a website that you list your interests and other things about yourself that no one particularly cares about. Then random people that know your friend's-sister's-dog's-long lost uncle post things on your page. Then, voila, you have a new friend that you may say one thought to, and will never actually see in person. What is the point of this? Is it to say that you have umpteen online non-existent friends? While you are building hundreds of superficial relationships, I am trying to cut back on my real life friends because I don't have enough time for them.

Wednesday, March 1

Why Stereotypes Exist

Stereotypes. Say it slowly, s-t-e-r-e-o-t-y-p-e-s. To the uneducated it sounds like a trip to the local Circuit City. To the over-educated it's a sign of ignorance. To me it's a useful tool. Let me explain.

Stereotypes are frowned upon by our society. Whether it is based on skin color, religion, or some sort of physical appearance, everyone in our politically correct world thinks that it is wrong. Unfortunately it is something we cannot control. The human brain and psyche is based upon repetition. The more we do something, the better we get at it. The better we get, the more efficient we become and free up our brains for other things. So if the first 5 times we ever meet a fast food employee and they are slow and gruff, we assume the next time that we see one, they will be the same. It keeps us from having to go through the process of forming an opinion about them, which takes time and brain power. Thus freeing up our thoughts to think about the upcoming weekend or the inner workings of quantum physics.

So you can see that stereotypes are innate in the human psyche. However, are stereotypes true? Well to some degree they are. There is a statistical theory that involves a minimum number of participants in order to obtain accurate results. This theory goes hand in hand with stereotypes. If enough people of a certain group do a certain thing, it is statistically accurate to assume that they will possess these characteristics. Maybe we are looking at things wrong. Maybe the stereotype of white trash men beating their wives is true. But instead of one white trash guy not beating his wife, and thusly breaking the stereotype, maybe he simply isn't white trash. Maybe, just maybe the stereotypes are true but we incorrectly pigeon hole people into a cultural group that they don't belong in.

After all, stereotypes exist for a reason.

Friday, February 24

Starbucks Junkies

I hit up Starbucks about once a month. I used to work at 5 AM in the morning so I used to go at least twice a week. During that time I have noticed many things that drive me to slit my wrists. The experience of a Starbucks is unlike any other. You walk in and it's like stepping into another country, replete with a different language and culture.

The people behind the counter are about the most annoying people on Earth. They are always happy. We all know it's not the caffeine, since you never see them actually drink the coffee. I think it's just the end result of Starbucks' other earnings booster, meth. But I won't go into that conspiracy theory here. When you get to the line that is about 6 people deep, you realize there is only one person at a register but 3 to 4 behind the counter. There is also the one girl who simply asks to start a drink for you. No, don't start a drink, start up another register and start taking some cash.

The customers are the bane of society. First off, if you have over 25% body fat, you should not be allowed in. You need a morning pick me up? Go for a jog. Don't come in and ask for a, dear God, Venti Caramel Machiatto Frappacinno with extra caramel shots, whip cream, chocolate sprinkles, and SOY MILK. Do you realize that there are 1,000 calories in that? Or how about the fact you want soy milk. Oh the irony. Then there is the businesswoman who always orders a white chocolate mocha. Then gets upset because it takes too long. Hey bitch, first off, you are here everyday in this same line. Second, you aren't important. Third, if your time is so valuable, make one of your subordinates get the coffee. Which leads to the jerk-off who orders 6 drinks. Buddy, next time, make those lazy asshats at your office get their own coffee.

Which leads to me. All I want is a fucking drip coffee! I would get it at AM/PM if their coffee didn't taste like it was strained through a monkeys ass. All I want is a cup of black drip coffee. Notice that? If your order is longer than three words, then you don't need it. So I go in and wait in the line of buffalos and wannabes. Listening to annoying cell phone calls, tapping feet, and retarded orders. It's amazing that something like coffee would make me do this but if there is no coffee at home, something must be done. Now if I could just get that moron behind the counter to not put the lid on the seam of the cup so that it drips on my shirt.

Thursday, February 23

What I hate about you....

Some call me narcissistic. Others claim I am cynical. My therapist says I am maladjusted. I say I'm a realist.

How does this affect you? It doesn't.

Society as a whole is pretty pathetic. I don't lump myself into society because I am so much more intelligent, witty, and open minded than all of you. Of course I have my opinions but they are based on facts, which essentially makes them facts in and of themselves. So what separates an incredible philosopher like myself from the average Joe dumbass? Here is a list of reasons why I hate you.

You use cliches and over used slang all the time. Is it that hard to come up with something new? Are you that large of an asshat? Can't you like, possibly like, try and like, find a like, new way to like talk that isn't like your soon to be unemployed, ignoramus, friends?

You're mindless drones. You see something on TV more than once and it must be true. You watch the evening news and think that Brian Williams is telling you the truth. Brian doesn't give a furry gerbil about you. The next monkey that tries to debate me by using information from a newspaper or network news, will get a face full of feces.

You think I care about the car you drive? No, I care about the car I drive. As in, will it break down on me, do I need to put gas in it, or does it smell like a men's locker? Congratulation on the purchase of those super-duper cool 24" rims. What did those set you back, $4k? Maybe next time you can just give me the money and I can kick you in the balls. At least you'll have a story to tell about it.

You're cell phone habits. I don't care that you have friends to talk to on the phone. It just means that you either have lazy, needy, or unemployed friends. Next time you want to tell your girlfriend about the venereal disease you caught last weekend, do it in the privacy of your home.

Your ugly kids. My kid is cute. In fact he will probably be a model some day. However your kids are ugly. Please, don't try and show me pictures of your kids. It will only make you feel stupid when you see mine. No one cares about the sea-donkey that you and your spouse created in a drunken stupor. There's also a 50% chance that one of you is not the real parent.

I could go on forever with this list. Maybe this will be a regular feature here. Or maybe not, it just makes me hate you even more.

Tuesday, February 21

RIP English Language

Let me put on my Nostradamus beard and make a prediction.......

The English language will officially be dead in ten years.

America will soon have 35% of it's population over the age of 60. Unfortunately these people will soon be dead and with them will go the spoken language of America. How is this? Let's not even bring up the fact that most immigrants refuse to learn the language and many states are becoming bilingual because of this. Let's also throw out the fact that many Americans butcher the language (See Ebonics and our Wisconsin and Michigan residents). No, the death will come from the most innocent of people. People who are the future of America. Our children.

Between the internet, a pathetic school system, and instant messaging, our great means of communication has degraded to a chorus of single syllable grunts and vowel-less, thumb typed messages. The worst offender is the internet and forums. Unless you have been living in a tree for the last five years, you certainly are aware of internet forums (Formerly BBS'). These are a great addition to the internet and allow groups of people from all over to come together and discuss topics that interest them. There are forums for everything except proper English usage. These forums are usually overrun with people who not only cannot spell or use proper punctuation, but also can't use a spell-checker. They simply want to type their feelings in the least amount of time possible. Thus resulting in wonderful internet speak like "Oh Rly?" or "Chk ths out!!!!1". Of course when someone corrects them or accuses them of poor grammar, they retort "You understood me, I can spell but I choose not to care".

Instant messaging is the second worse offender. Kids love IM because it allows them to say whatever they want without the fear of sounding like a fool. You can type anything and if the recipient is offended, you can just type "j/k". Since communication is 90% body language, it is important to use excellent punctuation and grammar to get your point across. This just goes in one ear and out the other.

The third and most heinous offense is the one committed by the school systems. Not only do they not put a priority on English but they put a higher priority on foreign languages. The linchpin is that kids think that the only place they need to use good language skills is in school but the schools don't care. So not only do they use poor language skills on a daily basis but they aren't challenged to use them where they are supposed to be learning it.

Soon enough we won't have a language anymore. It will be a potpourri of grunts, three letter words, and misspellings. I guess that's okay since most parents cannot understand a word that their kids use when talking to their friends.

"Whatever, English ain't important if you can understand me anyways, right? Irregardless, I don't care anyways."

After typing that last line, I feel like cutting off my hands.

Monday, February 20

No Soup For You!

My parents found this new diet that is for heart patients who are overweight and need to have surgery. This magic diet promises you will lose between 10-17 pounds in a week. Sure you will. But they actually did lose quite a bit of weight so my significant other decided to try it. Myself, I was skeptical to say the least. Diets, in my opinion, are shams and bad for your body in general. I am a big fan of exercise and eating what your body needs (Plus the occasional In&Out Double-Double). But being the good husband I am and not wanting to have to cook for myself for a week, I went along with it.

The diet basically consists of a vegetable soup. The soup contains carrots, green beans, onions, celery, tomatoes, bell peppers, and beef broth. You make a big fat pot of it and you can eat as much of it as you want at anytime during the one week diet. It really isn't a bad soup and is actually pretty good. Each day of the diet you can have different things. For example, one day you can only have fruits with the soup. One day you can only have vegetables, one day you can have both and a couple days you can eat all the meat you want. The premise is that your body needs certain nutritional elements at certain times. It is a pretty carb light diet except for the fruit. You can drink pure juices, coffee (No sweeteners), tea, milk and lots of water.

The first day was the hardest. I craved everything in the house because I couldn't have it. The second day was worse. I wanted a candy bar soo bad but I didn't cheat. The third day was pretty easy and I was starting to feel pretty good. The diet is also a good way to "Clean" you out. They say you may want to eat some fiber to combat any constipation. Let's just say I read a lot of books in the library so fiber was not an issue for me. By day four I was down 7 pounds. Granted I am far from what you would call a fattie. I started at 177 lbs and I am 5'10". So by day three I was at 170 lbs. Not too shabby. However it was definitely harder to keep up my exercise regiment. Normally I run 3 miles 5 days a week. I could barely make it the first day and have progressively gotten stronger, although it is still a lot more of a strain than before. I owe this to the lack of complex carbs in the diet. The last 3 days were pretty easy. In the end I lost 8.5 lbs. Not bad considering I am not a fattie to begin with.

It was nice to drop some weight quickly but I think the best part about the diet was how it reminded me that I actually like fruits and vegetables. I can see how easy it is to fall into the junk/fast food diet. So it's been 3 days since I finished the diet. I gained back 1 lb but it was because I had some beer and a big dinner the first night after it was over. I am actually eating the soup for lunch today and a bunch of fruit. So there it is, the one week soup nazi diet. Now that I am an Adonis, I will not be posting here ever again, I have to go reward the sun with my incredible physique. Later fatties.

Friday, February 17

My Favorite Vegetable

No, this is not about Christopher Reeves. This is about the best vegetable around. One that not only makes you feel good but also tastes delicious. It is often overlooked but is definitely the cream of the crop. It also makes me feel like a big shot because it is what I like to call an "Upscale Veggie". Order some at a restaurant and everyone looks at you like you are special. Like you have a sophisticated palate and know about the little luxuries in life.

This sprout is unlike any other. The color, the texture and the verbiage are all unique. Corn is referred to as kernels (Yawn), broccoli is referred to as flowers (Not very fragrant), and celery is often called a stalk (Two letters away from "Stalker"). All of these are simply pretenders. They cannot compare to something that goes by the term "Spear" or "Tip". That's right, the best vitamin filled morsel is the one and only Asparagus. I capitalize it because of it's dominance over all others. Pan fried or steamed, it is the quintessential delicacy. Not only is the taste wonderful but the smell is to die for. Besides, is there anything better than the smell of Asparagus pee? I rest my case.

Thursday, February 16

Calabasas Smoking Law

I don't know about you (Shoot, I don't even know who in the toodles reads this anyhow) but I really like the California smoking laws. When I was a kid restaurants had smoking sections and inevitably the non-smoking section smelled like a burnt out building. Now we are lucky to not have smoking in public buildings, restaurants and bars. This is nice and makes going out much more pleasurable. Unfortunately the state has started going further. Calabasas has joined Davis in outlawing smoking in almost every non-private area of town. Currently in Davis you cannot smoke anywhere in public (Parks, outdoors, etc) unless in a specified area. You also cannot smoke in your house or car unless the windows are closed. You will be fined unless you play dumb. Personally I don't nor never have smoked. I find it to be a pretty nasty little habit. I do enjoy the occasional cigar though in the comfort of my backyard. Something I couldn't do in Davis if I don't actually own the property (Sucks for renters).

I think this is going one step to far and one step closer to outlawing cigarettes. California recently classified cigarette smoke as a toxin. This will definitely lead to the banning and many lawsuits. I feel sorry for smokers. They are basically taking away a right that these citizens have as Americans. The biggest problem is that if cigarettes are banned in California, where will the government find the money to replace all of those tax dollars? After all we want to make as much money off of the smokers as we can before they keel over from emphysema.

Wednesday, February 15

End Times

Even the most narrow minded atheist has to admit that the world appears to be headed into oblivion. War, famine, Islamo fascism, and the rise of the Evil Empire are all predicted by the Magic Book and its hero, Jesus. It cannot be argued that we are in the most tumultuous times in the history of man (Obviously not in the history of the world since the dinosaurs kind of got the shaft). Of course all of the previous atrocities will lead man to its demise but the true catalysts are a little less obvious. America is on the bleeding edge of the death of society. We have become the biggest whining, self loathing, blowhards in the world. We have our beliefs but we never seem to adhere to them. We tell others what to do when when we are the ones who should be listening. And finally we are a bunch of panty waists.

What America needs is a true enemy. A Nazi Germany or a Cold War Russia. We have terrorists but 9/11 was soo long ago that we have forgotten about it. Remember after 9/11 when every other car on the road had an American flag on it? Now they are all gone. Not because people took the stickers off but because we got new cars and new stuff is cool. Pretty soon the Islamo-Fascists will strike here again and it will take even less time for us to forget. Look around you daily and you will see the lethargic lazy society we have become. People litter when there's a trash can 6 feet away. People incessantly feel that public areas are their personal comains. People constantly critisize without a solution. We have become cynical to all the good things and dismiss truly important causes. Wake up America before you become slaves. Oh wait....we already are.

Tuesday, February 14

You Saw My Blinker Bitch

I have come across the laziest human attribute. It is simply the act of using your blinker. I know what your thinking; "But it takes so much time and energy to lift my finger off the steering wheel and flip the blinker on." Of course it's difficult but I think your anxiety can be overcome. First off, we are the laziest yet most multitasked humans in the history of the world. We can't make our own coffee (That's what Starbucks is for) but we can drink it, while eating a Breakfast Jack, listening to Howard Stern and staring at the hottie in the car behind us. All the while navigating the most treacherous road conditions known to man.

Most people don't use their blinker because there is nobody around. Nobody behind me so why use it? Let's start with people in front of you. Don't you hate when you're waiting to pull out onto a street and there is a car coming? So you wait for them to go by but they slow down and turn onto your street. "Dammit" I could have went 30 seconds ago if that guy would have been polite enough to use his blinker. It's not just politeness to your fellow fossil fuel burner that is important. The biggest reason people say they don't use their turn signal is because no one is behind them. Here's a concept for ya, maybe if you used your blinker the guy in your blindspot, that you didn't see, may alert you to the fact that your about to put a Miata tattoo on the side of your new Hummer. This is especially important with the advent of new driver attention grabbing devices like cell phones, navigation systems, complex stereos, and yapping wives.

So next time you decide to merge, turn, or change lanes, take that oft under used ring finger out of your brown-eye and activate your blinker. You can clean the feces off later.

Monday, February 13

"The Code" or The Male's Guide to Public Bathrooms

Male bathroom etiquette.

As men, we are looked upon as animals by women when it comes to our bathroom behavior. However, as most men know, there is a strict code of conduct in public restrooms that must be followed. Women tend to think our bathrooms are worse than theirs. Have you men ever been in a women's bathroom? Trust me, it's not the hot, sexy place you dreamed about in your teens. To keep up our standards we must make sure the code is followed strictly. If you see someone violating the code it is perfectly polite to reprimand them gently. Here my friends is "The Code."

It is never acceptable to talk, make eye contact, or even acknowledge another man once you are past the imaginary line that separates the wash area from the penial exposure area. Once safely in the wash zone, it is ok to nod, say hello, or make very casual conversation. This should be kept to a minimum though. If your cell phone rings, DO NOT answer it. You are not that important and you will be ridiculed by any other men in the bathroom. Besides, the person on the other end will know exactly what you're doing. After your business is done, if you are in a disgusting facility, it is ok to not wash your hands if the only thing you touched was yourself. If you did not use your foot to flush, you must wash.

When entering the bathroom men should always take the first or last urinal. Each subsequent male should take the farthest urinal from anyone already there. This continues until there is no longer a buffer between urinals. Men then have a choice of either violating the urinal buffer zone or using the stall. Most will violate the zone unless they are a sufferer of shy bladder, those men choose the stall in this instance and will choose the stall almost everytime they are in the bathroom. They have a problem and men should not think less of them.

If anyone looks at you while at the urinal, you should immediately look away. Never make eye contact! If anyone takes a gaggle over the separation wall, you should put away the beast and leave immediately or move to a different urinal or better yet, a stall as you will probably be pretty shook up. There shall be no talking. However if you are at a sporting event and the person next to you is drunk and trying to make conversation, it is acceptable to talk because the offending male will feel much remorse and personal failure the next day when he remembers what he did.

Now if you are stuck in the buffer zone, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, think about stage fright. Much like premature ejaculation, the more you think about it, the more likely it happens. If, for some reason you do get stage fright (Someone talks to you or looks at you) it should not be seen as abnormal or a threat to your manhood. It is a natural reaction and can be overcome by multiplying large numbers in your head or reciting sports statistics. Occasionally a tension breaker like running water will help. Sometimes, if the male next to you has the dreaded fright, it is acceptable to give them a flush of your urinal to break the tension. However, you should never flush your own urinal before unzipping, this not only informs others of your recurring fright problem but also jinxes you to have it right then. Use the multiplication or hope for the helpful flush. If fright is exacerbated and you are unable to go it is ok to act like you did and go back later. This "Get out of jail free card" can only be used every so often. If it becomes a regular occurrence, you need to start using the stall.

Stall etiquette is a little trickier because males tend to think that they have diplomatic immunity when no one can see them. Therefore a few rules are generally accepted by males. The first is you should lift the seat if urinating. How would you like to sit in someone else's piss? This rule is bendable if the seat has a drip cutout in the front and it is ok to use your foot to lift. Another faux pas is not using the ass gasket. This sailor hat is there not only to give you piece of mind while sitting on it but also to give you the knowledge that the last hairy bastard in there was not "ass to porcelain." Of course, the courtesy flush is always in force and must be recognized at all times. This isn't your home and your wife isn't around, therefore there is no reason to expose others to your "Brand". Remember, this is not your home so there is a de facto 3 minute rule. Whatever cannot be accomplished in that time frame, is not important enough to do in a stall. Be courteous to your fellow man. Finally, flush early and flush often.

Friday, February 10

Random Rhetorical

Some days you're the pigeon, some days you're the statue.

Cyborg Proliferation

Is there a permanent Star Trek convention going on in town? When did we become the laziest animal on the planet? It started with pagers.

Pagers were great because someone could let you know that they wanted to talk to you. Simple enough, right? If you wanted to call them back, you found a payphone or waited till you got home or to the office. No one ever died because they couldn't talk to you right away.

Then the cell phone was brought to the masses and businessmen were able to keep in contact with the office easily. Not too bad but the electronic leash was definitely tightened around our necks. Now everyone has a cell phone. This still isn't too bad except that people feel the constant need to be in contact with everyone. People in line at the DMV yapping away about the blouse they just bought in a voice loud enough to be heard by all.

Now we have Blackberries to see all those cool emails that Aunt Mitzie forwarded to us. You know the ones with the dancing baby we first saw 5 years ago. The newest convergence is MP3 cell phones. These are great because instead of people having to listen to your obnoxious phone call, they can listen to MP3's of their own obnoxious phone calls.

However, the worst invention being gobbled up by overweight tech nerds is the cyborg looking bluetooth headset. I know they enjoy hours of internet gaming with one hand on the mouse and the other in a bag of chips, permanently supplanted in their grandma's old chair, but when did holding a cell phone to your ear become as strenuous as a marathon? Is it that hard to reach in your pocket and hold the phone for a few minutes? Or even all the way to your belt where the phone resides, like the trophy you never won at the Math Decathlon.

Now I can understand the point of the headset. I understand the point of it being wireless. I don't understand the point of keeping the headset permanently affixed to your ear. Why are you walking around with a earring shaped like a Star Trek transceiver? Here is a piece of advice. You are not that important! Much like the cellphone attached to your belt, your cyborg earring is not making you any more attractive to the opposite sex. So please remove the loser tag from your ear, toss it on the ground, and stomp it with your new pair of Keds. Before I do it for you.

Thursday, February 9

Small Victories

Is there anything better than going to the work bathroom and finding the handicapped stall unoccupied? Or finding a single regular fry in your box of curly fries? Or getting to work and your manager is out sick? Or getting that stubborn ball of wax out of your ear? Or getting that new release Netflix movie the day it comes out? Or finding out you pulled into first place in your no-money fantasy football league? Or popping that blackhead that has been behind your ear for the last month? Or finding that last orphaned package of Taco Bell Fire sauce in a sea of mild?

It's all about the little things, which explains my sexual prowess.

"Results Not Typical"

Match.com is the greatest thing to happen to single losers since the invention of alcohol. Yet, among these millions of desperate neophytes there are only a few lucky winners. Just watch the commercials. You have an older gentleman who is obviously on his sixth marriage telling you about the benefits of internet dating and how their 62 million question test can match you with your sole mate. Sounds great, no? Then they show the 2 couples in all of Match.com history that have actually gotten married. Note that in small lawyer type at the bottom of the screen it says "Results Not Typical". Wait. You have developed this incredible system and the ultimate goal that every one of the pathetic members want is a long term relationship and in your own words, the results are not typical. Let's take a quick break for a second.

Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, South Beach, the Tapeworm Diet, et al, have the same premise. They show you before pictures of a woman, 300 pounds, sitting on the couch and stuffing her piehole with peanut M&M's. Usually this is a black & White photo as it accentuates rolls. Then they show the after shot. It looks like a Starshots spread with makeup, trendy clothes and a provocative pose. Once again, in size 6 font, is that phrase, "Results Not Typical". So let me get this straight. I pay you tons of money, follow the program, and these results are not typical?

Now here is my conspiracy theory. I think the dating sites and the weight loss companies are in cahoots. Think about it. In order to start dating and have a one in a million shot at the non-typical results, you must be presentable to the opposite sex. And let's be honest, Oreo cookie crumbs and moo-moos are not at the top of the list of sexy things. So first you spend the money to lose the weight and shockingly it works. You are looking great and, riding that high, put up the ultimate bait and switch ad on Match.com. It takes a few days before you get that first reply but what a glorious feeling. You start to nurture a few relations online and after a few weeks, you have your first real date. Here's the problem. After finishing the grueling diet and hitting your goal, you celebrate by falling off the ice cream and bon-bon wagon. So 4 weeks later, right before your date, you realize you don't fit into your "Skinny Clothes" anymore. You can't go on that date looking the way you do, so you cancel it and get Jenny Craig on the phone. Soon your match.com ad expires and your back to square one.

I have a hunch that the internet dating companies and the weight loss companies are all a part of a global conglomerate looking to take over the world. OPEC has nothing on these corporations. The only thing more important to Americans than their SUV's and mommy vans, is their desire to be skinny and loved. The thing that sets the conspiracy off is that when you get screwed at the gas pump, you get upset. However the entire goal of internet dating and weight loss is to get screwed.

So I propose that everybody who wants to try Weight Watchers or Match.com simply mail $1,000 to me. I will take this money, buy a plane ticket to your town, ring your doorbell, and kick you in the crotch. In the end you will be richer and go through less pain.

Wednesday, February 8

J-Ro's first post

Who is the jackhole who took my username and address? Everyone knows there is only one J-Ro. I demand this imposter be removed from the gene pool immediately. Now that I am finally cool enough to have a blog, I swear I will constantly underimpress and thoroughly bore all readers. I don't know why in the hooch anyone would want to read someone else thoughts about random crap but my friends tell me that being cool is of the utmost importance and I am certainly not one to fold to peer pressure. So anyhow, enjoy but I don't know why you would.

One guarantee - You will never see the word "Anyways" on this blog. So all you teenage angst, emo, English impaired, valley girl asshats better enjoy this one instance of your favorite word.